


When the snows fall

by tasteofdreams



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jon and Sansa have a lot to work through, Post-Canon, Showverse, Stark family feels, for my sins, the briefest mention of our beloved good boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofdreams/pseuds/tasteofdreams
Summary: Two Starks reflect on their past and try to heal some old wounds.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	When the snows fall

**Author's Note:**

> There is a good deal of wishful thinking in here, on the part of both the characters and the author. Forgive them all their flight of fancy. Also let's just pretend that Jon and Sansa have become better at communication than the tv series let them be. They deserve this.

“When I saw you again, that first day at Castle Black, it felt like a dream.”

Jon's gaze was trained on the ancient face of the heart tree, as though in confession. Mayhaps it was easier that way, but Sansa herself could not look away from him, fondly tracking his familiar features and the stern expression she had missed so dearly. Ghost circled them watchfully, a pale shadow amidst the falling snow.

“It was the same for me”, she answered quietly, lost for a moment in the hope and desperation of that long-ago reunion. “I had not seen another Stark since the day Joffrey killed Father before me.”

The memory ached, even now, that last glimpse of her father’s face as he looked her way, his love for her plain to see. It was a love that would doom him, though they knew it not as their eyes met and Sansa smiled for him with all the innocence in her heart. She had felt momentary relief at the knowledge that he would make the choice that would save them both - relief that was swiftly eclipsed by horror. Her utter powerlessness as her father was forced to his knees and she could do naught but scream for him, clawing in her panic at the weight of the man pinning her in place, was a bitterness she would be forced to swallow too many times in the years to follow.

She had been so frantic to reach him, could remember the senseless need to throw her body between her father and his death as it approached in the grim, silent form of Ser Ilyn. As though she, a mere child, could somehow prevent it.

Still now, when sunlight caught a piece of armour or a polished shield in the yard, Sansa could recall the sickening arc of the blade as it had cleaved her world in two, before and after, as it rose once more, sullied most cruelly by the blood of its ancestral house. She was a woman grown, finally safe within the walls of her beloved home, but in those moments she felt once again that dizzying rush of loss as she fell, her father’s severed head raised like an offering to the vengeful crowd.

“Nor I, for even longer.”

Sansa inclined her head in recognition of his long isolation at the Wall, remaining quiet as the memories continued their assault.

“Sansa.” Jon’s voice was softer now than it had been a minute prior, yet fervent as he sought to guide her back to the present. He reached for her hand, tucked demurely beneath her cloak to preserve warmth, pausing mid-movement before resettling it awkwardly by his side. “I wish I could have spared you that pain.”

“You would have fought through a throng of southroners baying for blood? Struck down the City Watch and the Lannister guard both to reach us?”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but she found that she could not stay her words. Though they had initially been carved out of her from the bitterness of past defeat, they took on now a savage glee that she could not halt. “Perhaps you would have slain Ser Ilyn himself before he could take even one step towards Father. Mayhaps cut down Joffrey and his mother, too. Saved us all some future harm.”

“Yes.”

Jon’s earnestness was as disarming as ever, startling Sansa from her bloody musings. Those rare fancies she permitted herself had rather altered in shape and colour since she was a girl.

“I wish it. To save you, I would have done it. To bring you home, all three of you, I would have fought through everything the Lannisters could throw at me. Or,” his mouth twisted in wry self-deprecation, “I would have tried.”

Perhaps another would have turned to mockery, in the face of such grand, impossible dreams, or delivered a sharp reminder of how many in their family had truly perished, to shake him from such sacrificial imaginings. Not Sansa, not now. Not when he was willingly recalling, for her, the city he had watched burn. Not when she could read the grief beneath his words, could almost taste the innocence of their lost childhood on her tongue.

“And we would have destroyed the Twins as we journeyed home,” she offered, “a precautionary measure, before returning to Robb and the boys.” She paused, weighed Jon’s open expression and the sad smile on his face, then spoke the words, simply because she could not bear to silence them. “And to my mother.”

She needn’t have worried, for he only nodded decisively. “Aye, we would.”

“Theon”, she began, voice wavering beneath the weight of a sorrow she would reveal to none bar the tattered remains of her house, “we would have made Theon know that he was one of us.”

“I told him once that he didn’t have to choose. That he could be both Greyjoy and Stark.”

“I am glad of it. Though I wish we could have told him so, when we were all children at Winterfell. We were so foolish, Jon.”

“We were children. How could we know?” Jon reminded her, an echo of that night in the Lord Commander’s chambers, when they had briefly chased away one another’s loneliness and grief with laughter and forgiveness. They had not known then how much they had yet to lose.

“We would have told him, had your knightly valour saved us all. We would have been safe at home and we would have been a family.”

The memory of the pained distance Lady Catelyn had always maintained from Jon sat uneasily in her heart. She had always loved and admired her lady mother, but Jon had after all been only a boy, motherless and seeking a warmth that Lady Catelyn had been unable to give. Her lord father's lies may indeed have saved his nephew's life, protected him from a wrathful king, but they had also wounded her mother, and thus left Jon yearning in vain for the affection his siblings were so freely given.

Sansa understood in part, now, the grief of being without a mother, and she ached at the knowledge that it was all Jon had ever known.

“All of us”, she finished resolutely.

There was one more wish left unspoken, but this one would be left unuttered. Sansa had once promised a man that he and his house would crumble to nothing but dust, unnamed and unremembered. She would not break that vow now and nor, she knew, would Jon.

They were quiet a moment, heavy with shared grief, the kind that would never melt away with the winter snows. Sansa took his hand, tired of doubt and of guilt, longing for the comfort he still brought her even after all that had passed. The smile Jon gifted her in return was fragile, but it was a gift nonetheless, one that Sansa held dear.

“That dream”, he murmured eventually. “The one I believed had caught me when I saw you in the yard that day. It was the most beautiful I had thought to deserve for some time.”

A thread of disparaging laughter escaped her, quite unintentionally. “Oh, I am sure of it. For what could be more beautiful than a bruised and broken girl, ragged and desperate, arrived to herd you away from all you had known and back into wars you thought to leave behind?”

“Sansa.” His voice, this time, was pained. “Do you not know what it meant to me, to see you there? To have you returned, long years after I had forsaken any hope of family? To know that you had sought me out, that you believed me somehow still capable of protection, and of love?”

For the first time in many moons, all her clever words deserted her and she could do nothing but stare at him, standing before her steadfast as ever, and marvel at the sincerity she saw in him clear as day.

“I thought to be without purpose, in my impending exile.” The word heralded a rush of fresher sorrow in her heart, though Jon gave no sign of his own as he continued. “Without companionship, nor hope, nor love. And then there you were, returning to me all I had thought lost. It is no wonder I believed you an illusion.”

“It was not some selfless act, Jon”, she reminded him sharply, her mind ever disdainful of her younger self. Sansa had long found that brand of kindness harder to muster than compassion for others. “I was afraid, wounded and in danger, and fled like a girl to my older brother for safety. We could have been children in the godswood once again.” She took a moment to hold those past injuries before telling him plainly, “man after man had made me bleed and I simply wanted one whom I could trust to treat me gently. That was you.”

“It was not selfless, I know. Who among us can claim such a noble virtue, after all we have seen? But it was an honour the like of which I had not thought to expect. Your trust, Sansa, has ever been precious to me. Especially knowing what you have suffered at the hands of men.” There was a lengthy pause, one Sansa did not dare to interrupt, for she could feel Jon marshalling the words on his tongue. “I hope I have not since lost it for good.”

His gaze was lowered, yet that could not hide the naked vulnerability on his face and in his voice. Jon never had mastered the art of hiding his emotions. Sansa was glad of it in this moment of strange peace between them; she had not the heart for carefully wielded words, hidden truths and shrouded barbs. Not here. Not with Jon. Not now.

Nevertheless, she could not freely give the benediction he sought. Her trust had long been hard-won, and Jon had broken it, as she had shattered his own in turn. She could not offer him empty platitudes; would not do him the disservice, and nor would she fool him if she tried. And yet she could not find it in herself to deny his hope, for there was some part of her that still held him above others, that instinctively had faith in her pack.  
  
_There are no heroes_ , the girl she had once been whispered through the years, _in life, the monsters win.  
  
_It was a lesson she had learnt through bloodshed and tears, the scars on her body testament to the truth of it. Yet there were those among the many with whom Sansa had crossed paths who almost made her believe once again. Perhaps the heroes in the songs were just that, stories passed down to cover over the wounds with hope, but she had seen for herself that there were still those who were brave, gentle and strong, even through the violent machinations of their world.  
  
Her sworn shield, for one, and young Ser Podrik. Smiling Sam Tarly - Grand Maester now, under her brother's watch - and his kind wife, Gilly. Theon, too, had grown to be a man of whom her father would have been proud, and Sansa knew that Lord Eddard would have looked no less warmly upon her lost brothers. Her sister's gentleness may be rare and fleeting, but it was there nonetheless, and none could deny Arya's strength, nor her courage.   
  
And Jon. There were many in Westeros who named him hero, still others who mistrusted him and branded him traitor, queenslayer - worse, kinslayer. Sansa, though, knew who he was. A Stark, at heart: brave, goodhearted and foolishly honourable, even as their suffering wore them down. None from any house were above reproach, of course, but despite their disagreements, she knew Jon had always done his best, had thrown his very life into the balance more than once to save others. In a world in which so many had devoted themselves only to cruelty and power, there was value in that.

“We have both made mistakes,” she replied finally. “We have wounded one another and fractured trust that was already fragile. I will own my choices, even those that caused you pain, and you must do the same.”

Jon bowed his head more deeply at her pronouncement, in acknowledgement and penance, she thought. Perhaps he believed her words finished, her judgement delivered, but there was more yet to speak.

“I cannot deny that I have felt betrayed by you, Jon, nor that you have felt the same at my hands. Yet I know also that you acted as you thought was best, that you fought and died for our people and that even in those moments when I believe your judgement was clouded, in your heart you meant well. Knowing it cannot raise the dead, but nor can I fairly censure you, for my own hands are not clean.”

His gaze had returned to her face now, his expression unguarded, hopeful, even through the remembered pain.

“I believe in you still. I believe that you are a good man. And I believe that you would keep me safe, were it in your power, for I know all that it has cost you to do so. We are family, Jon, for good or ill, and you will always have a place beside me, should you want it. I will defend you from all who may do you harm.”

“And I you.” He spoke gruffly, though that did not shroud his sincerity. Ghost shifted nearer as Jon spoke, the weight of him at her back giving truth to the words, before he returned to guarding them from the world outside this sacred grove. “You speak the truth, Sansa, much as I may wish it were less ugly. There is much between us, both joy and pain, but you will ever be in my heart. I will do what I can to protect you, I swear it.”

He had pledged as much to her long ago and, skin still stained with violence, mind on the little brother she barely knew, she had impatiently dismissed it as naive impracticality. Today, Sansa saw it for what it was: a heartfelt promise of affection and loyalty.

“And I you.” She echoed his words as an oath, their hands clasped still, her voice fierce, imbued with her strength and her love both.

The moment held, the sharing of a vow, witnessed only by the gods as the heart tree looked on, the chill of the surrounding snow a fitting companion to two children of the North.

Delicate flakes danced about them, seized by the wind and settling as a mantle upon each of them. Sansa smiled as Jon’s dark cloak was layered with white, a tribute to the great direwolf guarding them faithfully. When she brushed the snow from his cheek with her free hand, an answering smile rose on his face.

“It was snowing, too, on the day the gods brought us together again.”

“I lost my faith in the South”, Sansa admitted, “sought the only godswood I could find for the solace alone. And the cold felt like to stop my heart as we fled to Castle Black. Yet still I wondered if it was a kindness sent by the gods to cover our tracks and shield us from those who hunted us.”

Jon drew nearer as she spoke, instinctively wishing to shelter her even from trials long since passed. His arm was sure around her shoulders as she finally leaned into his offered strength, closing her eyes to savour the comfort she had so missed and to reacquaint herself with the reassuring beat of his heart. She need not pretend, here in this sacred place, safe with one she loved, watched over by the living embodiment of House Stark. Queen she may be, but there was a girl still beneath that crown, one who had precious few chances to let drop the duty placed upon her and rest with someone who still named her Sansa. The peace of it enveloped her as she allowed Jon to hold her, as she embraced him in turn, as they breathed each other in.

“You were crowned by snow, when you arrived at Castle Black. Not yet Queen, though mayhaps the gods foresaw it, marked you Queen of Winter, even then. Or mayhaps they simply gifted us a kindness after our long isolation, for you looked a vision of the girl I bade farewell long ago.”

She hoped she could cling to this moment, when they inevitably parted once more. Prayed that she could carry the strength of her family with her when she returned to her people, donning once more her circlet of wolves, and remember what it was to be Sansa as well as Queen. She knew in her heart that Jon saw both in her, loved both, as did Arya, who had ever refused to address her sister by her proper title; an insolence that her past self would have reprimanded, yet one that the woman she had become treasured. (Not that she would ever give voice to it, or would ever need to, for Arya saw the smiles that others did not.) Maybe that could be enough to sustain her, when they were gone. Perhaps it could help Sansa to see herself in the looking-glass once more.

 _The lone wolf dies_ , murmured her father's voice, _but the pack survives._

They were a pack, the four of them, scattered though they may be. Even Bran, with his strange new ways, rose at times from beneath the placid mask of the three-eyed raven to remind them all that their mischievous little brother still lived. They had survived the wars and the horrors and the countless traumas; not unscathed, but they had survived them nonetheless.

The last of the Starks. They would protect one another, and carry the echoes of their lost wolves with them throughout their days, and there was strength in that, too.

“There were snowflakes melting in your hair when you embraced me”, she remembered. “It was so alike -” Sansa found that she suddenly could not voice the thought, her throat tight as grief and love assailed her.

__

She need not find the words, for Jon of course heard what had been left unsaid. “Robb, the last day we saw him, in the courtyard at Winterfell”, he finished gently.

__

The memories remained sharp-edged, though they had been softened over time by the sweetness of the remembrance. There was a warmth, too, in holding them close, and especially in sharing them with one who also knew the tenderness of that pain.

__

Sansa nodded against his chest. Their family, the lost and the wanderers, were with them still, would be with them always, here beneath the snow and their canopy of weirwood leaves most of all. And, for now at least, the two of them stood together, weathering the storm.  
  


__

**Author's Note:**

> There are several direct references to the books, which are my true love.  
> \- The title is of course taken from 'A Game of Thrones', the quote that was also included in dialogue between Sansa and Arya in the tv series.  
> \- Sansa reflects on her childhood thoughts on heroes and monsters, also quoted from 'A Game of Thrones' (and theorised to indirectly relate to Jon, since Sansa was musing sadly that there will be no hero to cut off Janos Slynt's head, which Jon later does).  
> \- Towards the end, they both remember the last time they saw Robb, mentioning that he had snowflakes melting in his hair when they said goodbye to him, which is a detail that Jon, Sansa and Arya all return to in the books. 
> 
> This was... very accidental. Last night I went into my gdocs, intending to note down two lines of dialogue to use later, and ended up writing 3k of... whatever this is. I have a lot of feelings about the Starks, clearly, and they wanted to be written regardless of whether or not this makes any canon or character sense. Sorry? 
> 
> With thanks as always to [Snick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persnickett/pseuds/persnickett), who is unfailingly kind and patient even about writing she can't read. I'm exceedingly lucky to have her <3 This would have remained quietly in my gdocs if she hadn't encouraged me to post it today, so please direct all objections her way ;))


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